And why talk's fatiguing, and moisture is wanting panting, Next Monday's &c. &c. Feasts on Thursday, and Friday, and Saturday follow; On business 'tis always we dine; Vell fed argument, folks say, your starv'd talks beats hollow, When moistened with tongue oiling wine. 'hen who'd not be warden who breaths in his senses, Fine pickings he'll find on the bone, [Spoken.]-Because-why's why; and I takes are the parish shall come down a little, for I fear should come to the parish; and if I do, I knows That's what-and whose grinders would soon ave a holiday. And none, &c. CEASE YOUR FUNNING. Cease your funning. Force or cunning, Never shall my heart trepan; All these sallies, Are but malice, To seduce my constant man. 'Tis most certain, By their flirting, HERE'S THE BOWER. Here's the bow'r she lov'd so much, Where's the hand to wreathe them ? Songs around neglected lie, 3 Where's the lips to breathe them? Spring may bloom, but she we lov'd THE SHIPWRECKED TAR. Escap'd with life in tatters, Behold me safe on shore, I'll soon get togs galore And Poll's too tender hearted, Now Poll his course straight steering Poor Jack can't get a hearing She never saw his face; This, whom he thought love's needle, To set him in the stocks; Cry'd I, this is hard dealing, The elements at war, Than these had kinder feeling They sav'd a ship- wreck'd tar. But all their taunts and fetches 'Twas faithful love that brought him, For one my constant mind Thy image dear was given, And now remov'd each bar, My arms shall be a haven That sav'd the shipwreck'd tar. WHEN WE TWO PARTED IN SILENCE AND TEARS. When we two parted, To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek, and cold, Colder the kiss! Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. The dew of morning Such chill on my brow, And share in its shame. They name thee before me, A shudder comes o'er me- In secret we met, In silence I grieve, If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? THE MOUNTAIN MAID. The mountain maid from her bower hired, Where the radiant moon shone clear and bright, And the willows wav'd in the silver light, On a mossy bank lay a shepherd swain, He woke his pipe to a tuneful strain, And so blithely gay were the notes he played, |